#but he worked rly long hours and i only went to his house on sundays

[tallymali]

in a way i am thankful that if i had to have a fucked up childhood, it was fucked up in a neglectful way bc at least then you have some form of self sufficiency ykno. i was able to scarper at the first opportunity. sorry to the people who were raised in overbearing helicopter high-control environments. and also ipad babies. you are fucked up in ways i cannot even comprehend

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [CHAPTER 4]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, fingering, littlest bit of dirty talk, praise!kink, soft soft soft FLUFF hours, a bit of a filler chapter before the last chapter!! 😭 I can’t believe it’s almost ‘over’... This chapter has the least amount of smut yall will ever see with fratboy!wonwoo so don’t get used to it ☠️ LMAO 🤣🤣 also... it’s been a garbage week(boring work drama) for me so I’ll answer inbox msgs and stuff on sunday, I need to get away from the internet(and people) for a day dkfjhskh 😭💕 Ya’ll thank you for so much love and support with Caffeine and Until I Met You! It means so much to me and I appreciate every like, reblog and comment I get on it 🥺💕 No I will never be ending my fratboy!wonwoo au so don’t worry about that hehe 💕 For now, enjoy this soft ch 4 and I will see yall on Sunday! I love you, have a great weekend! 💕

[mood for this chapter: more than enough - alina baraz]

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x

“So…”

Wonwoo sighs - re-shelving another Edgar Allen Poe book. “So, what?”

Mingyu tilts his sunglasses down, eyebrows raised at the older male that continues to do his job instead of give him the time of day. “What’s going on with you, hyung? You’ve been… weird.”

“Okay, define weird.”

The younger male pouts as he takes his sunglasses off, pocketing them as he leans up against the bookshelf that Wonwoo is currently still shelving.

It only takes one utterance of your name for Wonwoo to stop in his tracks - fingertips on the spine of another book as he turns to Mingyu. “What about her? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but do you like her? I mean, ‘like’ like her.”

“Is it not… obvious? That I do? Did we not all collectively have that conversation about me giving her a set of keys to our house?”

Mingyu grimaces slightly as he mentally goes through all the times he’d even seen the two of you together and he’s only able to conjure up a few select memories - none of which were anything necessarily romantic. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘obvious’, I guess. The two of you aren’t exactly the ‘kiss and hold hands in public’ kind of... people. More like the, ‘sneak off to fuck in a public restroom’ kind... Which, uh, isn’t really... romantic.”

This time, Wonwoo crosses his arms and leans up against the opposite bookshelf as he sighs.

It’d been a few days since he’d seen you and you’d been swamped in so much class work that you didn’t even have the time to come by the library or the frat house. And even while Wonwoo stood in between the bookshelves having a conversation with Mingyu, you were finishing an art project with Minghao that was due by the end of the day.

“I know. I told her it’d be kind of a slow crawl for me.” He plucks another book from the cart, staring at the glossy text as he simmers in his thoughts. “Mingyu, am I awkward?”

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

Mingyu steps forward, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder as he smiles.

“You like her and you’re trying even if you’re not used to it. You gotta start somewhere, hyung. Even if you’re a fish out of water. But that’s okay, you can ask me for help if you want!”

“When are you gonna put a ring on Wonwoo-hyung?”

You snort at Minghao’s question - reaching for a clean paintbrush as he stands across from you in the large, empty studio. “First of all, can you not say it like that? I’m not gonna marry him, okay.”

The male rolls his eyes as he steps closer to you; his own hands and clothes covered in a colorful array of paints. “So you’re saying you never imagined hyung in a suit, hair slicked back and his buff arms carrying you off into your honeymoon?”

“W--wh--n--no! No, I haven’t!” You avoid his piercing stare as you focus on your end of the large canvas instead.

No, but I dreamt about it once.

“‘Hao, would you hurry! We’re supposed to be collaborating on this and it looks… like it’s 5 different art styles.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. And anyway, I like what you’re doing to hyung. Breaking him out of his shell, y’know? He’s just shy, that’s all. Needs a little work in the bold department.”

You bite down the urge to laugh because to you, Wonwoo was everything but shy when it came to the bedroom. Although, Minghao was right with everything else. “Yeah, I know. We went for breakfast together after I, um, stayed over a few nights ago and he kinda just sat there zoned out, picking at his waffles. He’s really cute when he wakes up in the morning though. Pouty and whiny.”

Grinning at Minghao, he pretends to gag in response before taking a seat next to you.

“Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Wonwoo makes an effort to check in with you throughout the day before he heads back to his room - asking you if you’d had your meals and if you’d finished your project on time.

You’d answered sporadically as you and Minghao raced to finish.

‘I’ll eat late probably… rly gotta finish or else my ass is failing lol’

‘Just don’t forget, okay? It’s not good for you to skip.’

Wonwoo lays down in his bed; yawning as he sets his phone onto the nightstand next to himself.

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s quick to give in to the tiredness that takes over him once he gets comfortable.

When Wonwoo finally decides to shift during his nap, he finds it difficult and extra warm.

“Mmh…”

His bleary eyes adjust to the, now,  slightly darkened room as he makes out your figure tucked underneath his arm. He calls your name softly - waking you up from the nap that you’d apparently joined him in.

“Mmh… Wonwoo…” You snuggle in deeper, voice still laced with sleep. “You didn’t even budge when I came in…”

He chuckles softly as he readjusts to spoon you from behind instead; his strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your body flush against his own.

“I’m surprised you came by, sweetheart. I would’ve just stayed awake had I known you were coming over.” His voice is groggy and laced with sleep as you sigh softly in return as you blink away the sleepiness.

“How was your day at the library? Miss me yet?” Wonwoo smiles into your shoulder before he tilts his head up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Always, sweetheart. Although, Mingyu decided to keep me busy today.”

“Oh? Anything fun?”

He plays with the hem of your shirt, “Well… Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe what that was. Nosy was more like it.”

This time you can’t help but snort in response. “You too? I think some people were being ‘lil moles today.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Did you end up just coming back here with Minghao from the studio?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, to be honest but… S’been a rough day.” Placing your hand over his arm, you squeeze slightly as you pull his arm around you tighter. “Our professor came by while we were working in the studio and said our project wasn’t up to par with what Minghao and I usually submit for projects. She didn’t fail us on the spot but she said we need to redo it for less credit or take the failing grade.”

Wonwoo nuzzles your neck; peppering small kisses on your clothed shoulder. “I take it the two of you are going to redo it?”

“Mm… We spent so long coming up with a concept and now we’re both stressed about coming up with something new. I walked over here with ‘Hao and he locked himself up in his room as soon as we got here. Figured I’d come hang out with you and found you napping… With your glasses on, no less.”

The two of you share a laugh; Wonwoo’s embrace making you feel more at ease.

“Can I help you de-stress a little, sweetheart?”

You stare at the opposite wall, nodding gently as Wonwoo’s hand leaves the hem of your shirt in favour of the waistband of your shorts.

“Just want you to feel good,” he whispers. “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

He teases you softly; fingertips ghosting across your skin as you shiver. “Ah, Wonwoo…”

“You worked extra hard today too, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you for what you accomplished today.”

Your body heats up at his praise and you can’t deny that his deep, soft voice sends thrums of arousal pouring over your body just as he dips his hand into your lounge shorts. He touches you over your panties - fingertips ghosting against your mound as you moan his name shakily in return.

“I know your new idea is going to be great, baby. I believe in you.”

Soft whines threaten to spill as Wonwoo strokes you over your panties - slowly working you up as you find yourself trying to grind against his hand. “Y-yeah… ‘m p-pretty sure ‘Hao’s already working on it…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as Wonwoo continues to stroke you gently; making no efforts to rush or add pressure to his feather-light touches.

A disappointed noise falls from your lips when he starts to pull his hand out of your shorts but it quickly turns into a content sigh when he starts teasing your chest instead.

“Mm, so soft…” Muttering against your shoulder, his eyes stare off into the dark room as he massages your body. “And all mine~”

You hum in response, “We should go on a date sometime…”

“You want to? We can go this weekend. After you’ve redone some of your project. I’ll take you somewhere nice for a job well done.”

You giggle softly; images of a wedding day’s Wonwoo dancing in your mind after the conversation you’d had with Minghao earlier. “I’d like that. We should do something for the whole day.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby.”

Wonwoo’s hand flits down your body again - snaking into your shorts and, this time, into your panties as you whine. “Do you wanna cum or go back to sleep, hmm?” 

You ponder it for a second as the drowsiness equates the urge to cum on his fingers. 

“Both? I wanna cum and then sleep a little more... If that’s okay?” 

Wonwoo hums in agreement as his fingertips drag through your folds - collecting the wetness on them before he teases your soaked hole. “Only a little teasing gets you this wet, hmm? So cute.” 

“Ah, f-feels good when you go slow t-too...” 

He stores that away in his head for later; chuckling against your shoulder as he slowly starts to dip his middle finger into your cunt. 

You feel warm and content when he starts a slow pace - thumb on your clit rubbing soft, slow circles while he pumps his finger into you. 

“O-oh, Wonwoo...” 

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.” 

“Ah, Wonwoo...”

“You can cum whenever you want. You deserve it.” 

He adds his index finger - thrusting both fingers into you as you mewl and arch away from his warm chest. Your toes curl and your thighs clamp and trap his hand between your legs as you start to grind down onto his nimble fingers.

“...W--Wonwoo...” 

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, let me hear your pretty voice when your cumming for me.” 

You turn your head - cries muffled into his pillow because despite his slower than usual pace, you find yourself already on the brink of cumming with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and his thumb on your clit. 

“Mmh... Ah... Feels s-so warm... and g-good...” You mutter, eyes blinking drowsily. “Gonna c-cum...” 

He doesn’t say anything in return as he focuses on you and your pleasure; fingers scissoring and curling right into your g-spot as you clamp down onto them in a vice grip. 

Wonwoo knows when you’re about to cum when he feels your hand coming down on his forearm, holding onto him for dear life when your orgasm still hits you just as hard. 

“Ngh, Wo---Wonwoo!” 

Your walls flutter around his fingers and make it harder for him to thrust them in and out with how tight you get. 

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby~” 

His deep voice makes you whine - nails digging into his arm and body trembling as the pleasure steadily washes over you. 

“Ah, bet your face is so pretty right now too~” 

“Mmh, s-stop...” Your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment from his constant praise but you can’t deny the way it goes straight to your core and only prolongs your orgasm. 

“Don’t be so shy, baby. It’s only you and me here.” 

Wonwoo leans away slightly to kiss the crown of your head - still working you through your orgasm as you sigh contentedly in his arms. 

Various thoughts run through his head in the moment, but the one that sits at the forefront of his mind is definitely how to make sure he kept treating you right. 

Starting with your date that he would spend time meticulously planning.

‘Ah, I should ask Mingyu for some advice.’ 

[ursoself-satisfying]

My Sweet Lord (ch2)

hes a lil young here for when how old hes supposed to  be when this stry takes place but its hard to find a non adorable n giggly gif of him lol 

Chapter 2 - I’m On Fire 

Priest!Joe Mazzello x F!Reader, NSFW, ~3.5k words

My Sweet Lord masterlist 

A/N: go listen to holy ghost by modern baseball while u read too cus its rly good,,, anyway this one is a lil dif!!! its a lil bg on the town a lil scene setting n its all about joe now!!! 

special thanks given in this post!! you can find whole accompanying laylists there as well not just single associated songs!!!

Warning(s): sex, religious guilt, some scary images, mentions of ejaculate, uuhhh body horror,,,, i think thats it besides maybe kinda disrespecting ur elders lol ??? 

Father Mazzello had been distracted, to say the least. His newest regular was different, in the simplest terms, and drew his attention in the most tantalizing ways. See, the Oranges was a retiree town in the middle of nowhere, a Bermuda Triangle of the American Midwest. People arrive and they never leave, usually because they die. It was a bit ironic but very fitting to him that the epitome of classic American ideals, though contrasting, collided with ancient human instinct to create this town where the elderly are unequivocally cared for by the young, who remain the bones of the town and keep everything running. You could live and die in the Oranges without ever even leaving them.

The Father had always thought the name was deceiving. “The Oranges” sounded like a small suburb in the wet, hot, muggy parts of Florida, not an old folks zone in middle America. There was some part of him that would always dislike living in a town named “The Oranges”. Maybe it was the priestly side of him, feeling dishonest in their presentation when confronted with their reality, meaning they did not and never have grown oranges there. Maybe it was the sunny signposts standing crookedly beside the worn yellow houses, paint peeling and fences fading, showcasing the poor upkeep of people’s own homes.

He was too harsh, though, because a town, he knew, was not its structures but rather its people, its community. The Oranges had no shortage of smiles, even if they mostly consisted of secondary sets of dentures. That’s what made her smile so different. It was real. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she stood out, no, it was also her legs, her thighs leading up to her hips, two very real hips, and a waist that would fit so well in his hands and then up a little further where his hands could perfectly cup-

The pencil snapped with a shock and the man blinked at his scribbles, unintelligible now that he’s been broken from his stupor. The lead tip of his pencil rolled in a curved line off his journal then off his desk and he watched it tiredly before glancing at the clock. It was nearly 1 a.m. The clergyman sat back and huffed, taking a moment to assess himself.

His hand had wandered to the crux of his black slacks and he groaned at the hardness beneath the cloth. His groan was unintentional but a needed release as he couldn’t “release” how he really wanted to. His thoughts were clouded with this girl- this girl- He barely knew her name and here he was, fantasizing about her simply because she was the only eligible woman he’d laid his eyes on in nearly a year, or probably more accurately over a year.

‘Why should that even matter to you?’ He asked himself. ‘Why should it matter that she’s eligible? She’s probably not. She probably has a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, even.’ Joe couldn’t help but groan again at the thought of her, pressed against someone else all the ways he wanted her to press against him.

‘Stop it!’ Some voice in the back of his mind hissed. ‘You’re a priest! It doesn’t matter if she’s unavailable! You’re the one who’s unavailable! You took an oath! You made a covenant with the Lord!’ If Joe were a man to curse, this is when he would curse. Instead, he simply moaned in compliance and gave into his conscience, sighing and giving his erection one last squeeze before sliding his hand back up his body, resting it on his open journal. He ripped out the page he’d been working on, the one describing his ‘newest parishioner’ in exquisite detail. No one would ever see that. No one could ever know he experienced such temporal thoughts. He was a priest, after all, he had to set a good example.

He spent the next twenty minutes in a headspace he despised, the one he used to eradicate the want that grew between his legs. It was images of the women in the first row of the church with teeth yellow and denture line visible, their smiles wide and slippery. The men in the back few pews have spots on their balding heads that are sometimes protruding and have hairs only growing there and somehow nowhere else. Joe focused on that, on the lumps and aches they vocalized, on the scratching of their smoke warped voices and the pores like pools on their noses. He thought of the way the hands of the mass shook when they went to place money in the collection basket, the yellow of their nails and the chipped polish on the manicured claws. Their skin was saggy and discolored and their hair is matted and fake and he thinks about what they must look like under their musty Sunday clothes-

He’s soft again, his pants no longer straining and he breathes a sigh of relief, maybe a quiet thanks to God. The priest does his best not to let his mind wander as he lets his feet carry him to his bed where he disrobes, definitely not drifting to imagine how her eager hands would feel pulling his trousers down, nails scraping down his thighs- Joe forced himself to turn the mental image of her tight knuckles to one of chapped and wrinkled ones to keep himself calm. As much as he dislikes subjecting himself to these thoughts, he tells himself he does it for the Lord. The Lord will keep him strong in these times of weakness, he tells himself, in these hours of temptation. He slid into his bed in briefs and an undershirt, letting the softness of his sheets smooth over his skin as it envelopes him and he’s whisked away into a few hours of much-needed rest and revelation.

Your hands had never been softer. It was the only definable thought in Joe’s head when you pushed up his thin shirt. The fabric bunched up over his stomach and you lowered your head to lick a long, wet stripe up from the happy trail disappearing down his shorts.

You were naked, straddling him, hips and thighs curved and soft and outlined by the moonlight that shone in from the cracks in the curtains behind you. The luminescence bounces off the soft tufts of your hair that bunched when your nose hit the bottom of his shirt and you kissed the middle space of his chest reverently. Joe was so wrapped in this moment that he asked no questions. His mind was muddled with lust and want. If you met his needy gaze, you would physically see the fog you caused in his brain, shown in the glazed over eyes that tracked your every move. It was like looking in the windows of a rocking teenager’s car, all steam, and sex behind them.

Your hips ground unconsciously on his crotch where his arousal was obvious and painful and he couldn't keep in his moan. The contact was too much for his near virginal state to handle. Your body, luscious and young and soft, and so easily defiled. It was so sinful. It caused a fire to burn within his loins, reigniting one that had long been a dormant pile of ashes before you came along. Every sway of your breasts as you rose your body slightly from his was another match stricken and thrown to maintain this burn.

Every clench of your thighs around his waist was kindle to feed it. Your undeniable silhouette was gasoline, your ass weighing on his lap was logs and paper, probably journal pages he’s written and hidden of you, but the way you looked down at him, the way your eyes fluttered and your lashes fell, the way your mouth puckered and curled and glistened, that was the first page of the book to burn. One by one, page by page, you would rid him of his religion, strip him of belief until all that existed was you.

And he was fine with that.

Again, Joe felt the contact of your soft pussy pressing over his aching cock and his hand instinctively reached for your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks while his other five went to squeeze at your thigh. Every desperate touch from him was a message; ‘You’re gorgeous,’ ‘please touch me,’ ‘I need you.’ He was practically tracing the letters into your leg as his hand slid down to your knee then back up to your waist. He was still laying down while you were straddling him and grinding against him, occasionally letting your hands wander, pushing up his shirt and licking the skin you could reach without stretching. You had leaned forward to suck at his neck and the holy man about died and ascended to heaven when he felt your tits on his chest and your lips on his neck simultaneously. Your nipples were hard, enough so he felt them drag over his exposed skin when you arched your back and left bruises at his jaw.

Being so focused on your lips, Joe had lost track of your hands. His were on your ass, groping and kneading with silent adoration, but yours had moved from mussing his hair to tugging at his briefs. The man gasped when your hips left his and then, with a swift and sudden motion, his underwear was yanked down and you giggled. Joe, however, did not giggle. The exposure was shocking and the cold was unwelcome, making his cock twitch and sending a shiver up his spine. It was in this moment that Joe finally took in your image, the bite of the cold shaking him from his focus on just how you felt.

All his other senses were hazy and the man of the Lord was overwhelmed. You were glowing. Your hair was feathered and voluptuous. Your skin was velveteen and your body belonged in a temple, deserving of an altar and endless worship. He would have sworn he witnessed a halo form around you as well, a golden line connecting one shoulder to the other in a shining arch. Your smile was soft and distracting, but his gaze persisted down your body full of admiration and curiosity. Your chest was supple and your stomach plush, just like your hips and thighs, all there for him to appreciate.

He sat up to improve his view, allowing himself to be in much closer proximity to you, able now to bask in your scent, sweet and innocent. Then he laid his larger hands on your breasts for the first time. He was almost worried the metal of his rings would surprise you, being cold on your hot skin, but you had no reaction. Kneading with slow gentle movements, he slid his thumb just barely over your nipples, hard and sensitive for him.

Somewhere in the back of his throat, a question was lost, a search for approval that got stuck on its way out, but it didn’t seem to matter as your constant blissful smile was encouraging enough. He didn’t question any of it.

Quiet hums vibrated in your throat and your half-lidded gaze motivated the priest to feel more of your body, squeezing at your waist and ass again and leaning forward to drop unpracticed kisses to the valley of your chest. You laced your fingers in the back of his hair, cradling his skull and holding him to your skin, but when his thumb brushed over your clit, you stopped him. His wrist was caught in your grip in a quick and unexpected move that stopped him from further touching you.

His breath hitched, fearing he’d done something wrong with the way your eyes bore into him, cutting through the silence and bringing him to the reality of what you were doing. Joe felt like he could only inhale, nothing coming out when he tried to push his breath away. He swallowed dryly and your expression softened ever so slightly, dropping his hand to instead wrap your digits around his cock and maneuver it to swipe between your folds. The wetness gathered in your sex and on his tip made for easy entry as you lowered yourself slowly, lashes fluttering and mouth falling open. The man choked on a protest but swallowed it with a moan when his head was sheathed in you, warm and tight and ideal.

Joe couldn't focus on anything. It was all happening so fast for him, a blur of skin and sweat. You bounced on him expertly and he fell limp at your abilities, a sputtering mess as your buoyant tits mesmerized him. Your hot, heavy breaths rained down on him and showered him with increased want, but he was unable to act upon it, struck dumb by a higher force, and that force was the look you gave him, accompanied by a breathy sigh and a smile when you settled fully on his shaft. He hadn’t realized but he had been holding his breath as you rose slid down him again, audibly slick and aroused. At that moment, the world vanished from around him, all fuzz and static, and all he knew was you and the way you felt, sleeved around him perfectly, undulating and flexing with an ever subtle thrust of his, impulsive and quick, needy and natural.

Your speed increased suddenly though, and the priest, barely holding on as it was, couldn’t contain himself. Speaking in tongues of love, he groped at you, searching for an anchor to his physical form as an ethereal feeling washed over him, his orgasm imminent and monumental. It was an out of body experience for the servant of the Lord, greater than any religious bliss he’d yet to experience. He could see himself beneath you, his face contorted as yours glowed with elation and he came inside you. He could feel you pulsing around him and heavenly choirs invaded his ears, the stimulation shrouding him in your presence.

What occurred next was warped and surreal. He was still inside you, coming down but still hard and you were still smiling but the air turned sinister and smelled suddenly not of your scent but of sulfur and lavender. You turned into a shadow over him, no longer a source of light, but rather the opposite; a source of darkness. That’s when your skin began to slip from its place on your skull. Melting like wax, he thought, but his comparison was wrong, so wrong because there were no hot drips hitting his stomach and your hands didn’t begin to pool at his bellybutton. No, instead your soft hands turned to leather and the familiar spots of discoloration and sun exposure began to blossom across your shoulders and chest. He could see your veins, one by one, rise up on your skin on your straining legs. Your breasts sagged and your stomach folded over. Your smile went wider as your lips thinned and eye crinkled, every line on your face growing deeper until he felt the first wisps of your fading white hair fall on his legs. Your nails began to dig into his lower stomach as they grew and then he fell the first few cold objects hit his heated skin. One by one, two by two, teeth, rotted black and yellow, bounced off his chest when you leaned forward.

Joe wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. Maybe he was already, he couldn't tell. By now he assumed his vocal chord had been removed sometime in the night because, still, nothing came out. He tried, he forced all the air in his lungs out his tense lips like a coastal storm blowing in. He was the winds and the waves and the crashing sounds of ocean on rock and sand as he struggled to break free from the growing weight of the body still on top of him, still around him; shaking, twisting, tears streaming down his red face. You were death holding him down, boney legged and saggy skinned, every part of you being pulled with more strength every second towards your home in hell. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so they flailed at his sides as yours slid up his body with the same disturbing gummy, black smile looming over him and all he wanted at that moment was for it all to stop and disappear.

The sweat on his forehead rolled down the sides of his face and collided with the tears that were apparently seeping down his cheeks as well. The tears were hot and the sweat was cold and Joe’s entire face felt numb and damp, and it was. His whole body was. His undershirt was soaked through and his neck shiny and dotted with perspiration. He shot up out of bed, sitting upright with wide eyes as he shook as he frantically assessed his surroundings. The desk was still messy, his journal still out, the lamp was off, the window closed and the door locked. Fear still seeped through his bloodstream and ran from his face to his toes. It was electric emotion that coursed through his body, one that he couldn’t shake and that left his hair standing on end. It was deep beneath is skin, a nestled sense of discomfort. No amount of his unconscious physical shakes could rid himself of it.

He rocked back and forth on his bed for a while, the images of his dream never leaving his head, haunting him like some cliche victorian ghost. His tremors subsided but he wouldn’t be going back to sleep that not, not after that. The drastic shift had gouged a wedge in his heart, one that was now filled with questions and doubts, second thoughts. The fire in his loins burned brighter and hotter and blacker, smoke rising from it in dangerous, polluting amounts.

Upon the onset of further physical discomfort in the form of a cold patch on his briefs, he opted to spend the rest of his night in the shower, not only washing the shameful premature ejaculate from his underwear, but also his dream from his body, the dream he could only assume was a punishment for his earlier sinful thoughts. On one hand, he was washing her touch away, her soft, sweet, innocent touch that couldn’t be wrong, but on the other hand, the abomination that she’d been warped into left a film over him that didn’t seem to wash off.

Joe believed in signs and symbols. He believed that God spoke to you in natural ways, every day. The advertisement on the bus next to you at that red light this morning or the constant re-emergence of one specific suggestion throughout your day, seeing the same person everywhere you went, it was a message from God. “There are no such things as accidents or coincidences,” he preaches, “everything here God has preordained. It is predestined and meant to be.” He thought of her, meeting her and her timing. “Trust that this is the Lord’s will.”

This must be a sign. He thought of all the examples of prophetic dreams in the Bible, all the times the Lord has used this outlet to speak to his servants. Joseph, Jacob, Daniel, Solomon, Nebuchadnezzar- But what did it mean this time? The object of his unsanctioned affection decaying on top of his, immediately post-coitus. It scared him, the implications of it, but it also scared him that he had the dream at all, if he was honest. It was intense. Not only was it erotic, but also scarring. What did it mean for him and his faith? Part of him wanted to brush it aside and ignore any allusions his subconscious was trying to get to him. He wanted to, for once, turn to science to deny the religious answers to his issue, telling himself it was just a projection of some kind of worry, but that would mean he would have to admit to himself he was worried about her, around her, because of her. He would have to acknowledge the effect she had on him and he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t give in to this moment of weakness, so instead he scrubbed his soiled underpants at three in the morning and tried to wash the nightmare from his mind with Shout and bar shampoo, ignoring the heavy dread building in his chest as the hours counted down to Sunday morning, when he would face his congregation of elders and one woman he couldn’t ban from his mind if he wanted to.

He fell asleep at approximately 4:30 in the morning, face flat on the side of his tub, one hand caked in dried soap and the other clinging desperately to his still clearly stained boxer briefs. He didn’t dream this time, and for the first time he was ever aware of it, he was grateful he didn’t.

[jornami]

A Winter’s Ball {Part 2}

Upon popular request I present to you... A Winter’s Ball Part 2

A/N: Yikes...okay so that anon asked me to “make it really angsty but with lots of fluff.” … Sorry, my darling

Request: may i request an alexander x female! schuyler sisters reader where the reader is the 4th schuyler sister. out of her, angelica, and eliza - reader connects the most with alexander at the winters ball. after the ball and many letters being exchanged, angelica and reader go to london where angelica gets married and reader has a better education. upon reader's return, she sees that alex and eliza are engaged and alex never mentioned it in his letters!! pls make it rly angsty but w/a lot o fluff

Warnings: historical inaccuracies, angst, mentions of religion, major character deaths, you heard me...plural…

Masterlist | Request! | Part 1

“This is a joke, right?” you said, hoping it was a prank. “Right?”

Eliza finally spoke up, “I’m sorry, but he makes me really happy.”

“He made me happy too, and before he was yours he was mine!” you screamed, tears welling in your eyes. “‘I’m sorry, but he makes me really happy.’ You're pathetic, Eliza!”

“Y/N, honey, please calm down,” you father said in a calm tone.

“No!” you shouted at him. “You gave him your blessing when you know I loved him!”

“Young lady, lower your voice!” you father said, his voice rising in volume.

“Father is right, Y/N,” Angelica began but you cut her off.

“Don’t you dare!” you shouted, pointing a finger at her. “You knew about this the whole time and you didn’t tell me. What happened to no secrets, Angelica?”

Angelica began to say something, but was at a lost for words. You looked around the table at your awestruck family.

“You’re all pathetic,” you spat and stormed up the stairs to your old bedroom.

You crawled under your covers and cried your eyes out. You had so many questions. How could your family keep a secret like this from you? More importantly—why? What happened between Eliza and Alexander while you were gone? You were pulled out of your thoughts by a light knock on your door.

“Go away,” you huffed.

“Y/N, it’s me, please let me in,” a honey-like voice belonging to your sister Peggy said.

“Do you have biscuits and jam?” you asked.

When you two were kids it was your favorite snack; it always made everything better.

“Of course,” you could hear the smile in her voice.

You got up from the warmth of your bed and walked over to unlock your bedroom door. You saw your sister with a basket full of biscuits and jam. You smiled at her and pulled her into your room, shutting the door behind her.

You two ate in silence for a little while until Peggy finally broke it.

“We’re gonna have to talk at some point, Y/N,” she said as she put jam on another one of the biscuits.

You didn’t answer her, you just picked at your nails.

“Forget it,” she sighed and began to walk to the door.

“You knew,” you deadpanned.

“Yes, but every time I tried to write to you one of them stopped me,” Peggy said as she sat back down next to you.

“They did not!” you gasped in disbelief and Peggy just nodded her head.

“Y/N, I know you loved him,” she began and placed her hand on yours. “but remember when I was pining over one of father’s coworkers’ son and he got married? You told me that everything happens for a reason and that if two people are meant to be they will find their way back to each other. And as a good sister, it's my job to tell you the same thing when you need it.”

You smiled and pulled her into a hug, “With all the rain clouds hanging above my head right now, I'm so lucky to have you. You're the sun that peeks through the clouds, my darling sister.”

As long as you had your partner in crime, you were going to be alright.

December 14, 1780

“Can you believe that in just a matter of minutes I'll be walking down the aisle to marry the man of my dreams?” Eliza gushed as Angelica put in her veil.

“Man of my dreams,” you wanted to say.

“I'm just saying if you really loved me you would share him,” Angelica sang.

“Ha! Never in a million years,” Eliza giggled.

“All done!” Angelica clapped her hands together.

“You look stunning,” Peggy awed.

“She really does, and all because of me!” Angelica agreed, praising her handy work.

“Thank you, but you must go if we want the ceremony to start on time!” Eliza told her sisters.

Angelica and Peggy rushed downstairs, and you started to trail behind them.

“Y/N, wait,” Eliza called after you.

“Yes?” you replied and walked back into the room.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I'm fine,” you lied.

“No you're not,” she saw through your façade. “I've known you all my life, I know when you're not okay.”

“I'm fine, Eliza,” you smiled weakly and hugged her from behind.

“So you're not upset about Alexander?” she mumbled.

You sighed, “If I couldn't have him, I'm glad you could.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, tears pricking her eyes.

“Yes, darling, I'm absolutely sure,” you smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “No crying, until after the ‘I do’s,’ okay?”

She nodded and wiped her tears.

“You look beautiful today, darling,” you told her sincerely and placed a kiss atop her head. “I'll see you down there.”

You walked out of the room and closed the door behind you. Of course, you were upset that she was marrying Alexander. Maybe even heartbroken, but you loved Eliza more than anything in this life. You would choose her happiness over yours every time.

“Everyone give it up for the maid of honor, Y/N Schuyler!” John Laurens cheered, three sheets to the wind.

“A toast to the groom!” you drunkenly yelled, raising your glass.

“To the groom!” the crowd echoed.

“To the bride!” you yelled.

“To the bride!” the crowd boomed.

“May you always be satisfied!” you giggled. You were drunk off your ass and you couldn't care less. “Oh, and Alexander! If you ever break her heart, may the lord show you mercy because I sure won't.”

“Noted,” Alexander smiled and kissed Eliza's forehead.

You sat back down in your seat.

“May they always be satisfied,” you muttered to yourself and chugged the rest of your champagne. “because I sure won't.”

April 17, 1784

Angelica had walked down the aisle first. Then Eliza and Peggy after that. On April 17, 1784, it was finally your turn. Shortly after Eliza and Alexander’s wedding, you met a dashing soldier named John Grismore. He was no Alexander, but there was only one Alexander Hamilton.

“Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?” Peggy asked you as she tied your corset.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you smiled.

Throughout the years, you watched Alexander and Eliza’s happy marriage. When they went on their honeymoon, when they bought their first house, when they had their first kid. You hate to admit it, but you often fantasized about doing all those things, and more, with Alexander. The Bible says, "Thou shall not covet,” and you spent years in an average marriage doing exactly what you were told not to in Sunday school.

August 25, 1792

If there was one time you didn't yearn for Alexander was in 1792, when Alexander published the Reynolds Pamphlet. It was 95 pages, tell-all, of Alexander’s affairs. When you and Angelica got news of the pamphlet, you two dropped everything you were doing, and rushed to your sister's aid.

Alexander greeted you at the steps that led to the front of your house.

“Y/N, finally, someone who understand what I'm struggling here to do,” he said frantically and lifted your hand so he could kiss it.

“I'm not here for you!” you gaped in disbelief and snatched your hand away.

“Angelica?” he said desperately.

“We're here for our sister, Alexander,” Angelica said calmly, the type of calm that has no place in a situation like this. “we'll talk later.”

Angelica ushered you in the house and you two walked into the living room where Eliza stood in front of the fireplace. She was tossing letters into the flames.

“I hope that he burns,” Eliza said coldly, a glassy look clouding her eyes.

Later that night, you walked into Alexander’s office with an oil lamp in your hands.

“Let's go for a walk,” was all you said and waited for him to follow you.

You two walked out into the open field in the front of their house.

“Congratulations, Alexander,” you chuckled coldly. “you have officially hit rock bottom.”

“Y/N,” he sighed pathetically.

“Let's review,” you said, ignoring him. “you took a rumor that a few people knew and refuted it by sharing an affair of which no one has accused you. What sense does that make, Alexander?”

“Y/N,” he said again.

“I'm going to tell you this once, so listen clearly,” you told him. “Eliza is the best thing in our lives, so never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best wife. Enjoy her while you still have time with her.”

You exhaled deeply and turned to walk back in the house, leaving Alexander standing there dumbfounded.

July 2, 1804

Another day you'd never forget was the day Alexander died. You, Angelica, and Eliza were all by his side when it happened. The next few week were extremely hard on all you, but Eliza finally decided it was time to move on to the next chapter of her life. Angelica went back to London, and you returned to Virginia. Eliza thought the first step to moving on was cleaning out Alexander’s study. She combed through letters for hours. Most of them were addressed to colleagues, but their was one that caught her eye. It was addressed to you.

My dearest, Y/N

I've been wracking my brain for months on how I should say this. Should I tell you in person or should I send a letter? I figured a letter would be more pleasant for both of us. I love you, and not in a sibling way. More of in a romantic way. These feelings are not new for I've felt them since the first day I met you. While I still love Eliza and she's the light of my life, it has always been you. I'll probably never send this in order to avoid a civil war between the family. But in case you ever find this, I love you, forever and always.

     Forever your conflicted and confused,

                                                               A. Ham

The guilt that hadn't plagued Eliza since her wedding day suddenly returned. She never told you, but she always felt guilty for marrying the guy her sister loved. It was selfish of her and she knew it. If she could go back and reject his proposal, she would, but it was too late now.

April 13, 1850

So there you and Eliza were; the final frontier. You and her were the only remaining ones. Peggy went first, next was Alexander, and then Angelica. Now, it was your turn. You lied on your deathbed, Eliza clutching your hand.

“My dearest Eliza, tell our story,” was the last thing you said to her before you took your final breath.

“I will, darling,” Eliza said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

What they don't tell you is that after you die, your soul doesn't immediately pass on to heaven. Your soul lingers in the room so you can hear your family's final goodbyes. 

“Y/N, I'm so sorry that I married Alexander,” she confessed. “I knew you loved him, but I married him anyway. It was incredibly selfish of me. I hope that in the afterlife you finally get to have the life with him you never had on earth. Make sure to tell him that I said hi.”

You opened your eyes and saw Alexander standing in front of you. He had an ethereal aura around him that made him glow.

“Alexander,” you smiled and hugged him tightly.

“Y/N,” he said, spinning you around.

You pulled away from the hug and kissed him passionately, something that was long overdue.

"She gave us her blessing, Alexander," you beamed. "The only one we ever needed."

[halfcupofcoffee-blog]

Idk the number, but does anyone rly care?

So! I’ve been in college for 59 days by now. I know I said I was gonna keep updating but I’ve been busy okaaayyyyyy

Anyway, Philadelphia has been really good. I haven’t gone much of anywhere despite being here for two months. I went around Center City with Jimmy a couple weeks ago, and it was amazing. I love the city so much, and I wish it wasn’t a 30 minute bus ride from campus. We aimlessly walked around for hours and Jimmy used me as a model for his photos, which was super awkward for me, but he somehow got some really nice photos. He's posted some on his account I think, I’ll paste a link at the bottom of this post. 

Classes are good. I have a design class where I have to do a lot of painting, which is a lot of work, and I’m not getting the results I want so that one’s annoying. But I somehow have a B in the class. I have a drawing class where I have an A. We started using models for figure drawing last week and it was suuuppppeeerrrr awkward. 

Those are the only classes I have that go toward my major this semester. The others are annoying. I have a College Algebra class which I'm pretty sure I’m failing, but the professor give out extra credit like it’s candy, so I think I’ll be okay. 

Debating U.S. Issues is a class I have to take for like character building or something, and I only have to take it once thank god, but I hate it. I don’t do well talking to a bunch of people and speaking my opinion to people I don’t even know is proving to be difficult. I got a 68 on my first paper and honestly I worked rly hard on it and I’m very disappointed. My professor allows rewrites so I might redo it and get a better grade. I’m pretty sure I don’t have a good grade in that class. 

I have a writing class too. Which I love so much. I almost wish I’d stuck with being an English Major. I think it would have been less work honestly, but I like the idea of making movies one day. But I’ve been doing really well on the essays I have had to write. It’s only two so far, but the first one was what my definition of home is, and honestly I had so many things to put in that my paper turned out to be 6 pages and one of the best in the class. The second paper isn’t due until Monday, but it’s on Discourse Community and I picked Twenty One Pilots’ fan base. Rough Drafts were due last Wednesday and my Professor really liked it. Also he wears a bowtie and he’s been my favorite professor so far other than my Drawing Professor. 

I have small pangs of being homesick. Mainly on Sundays because I force myself to watch the live stream my hometown church does before I force myself out of bed to go to Jimmy’s house. I talk to GiGGles nearly everyday and I talk to my dog in the process. I miss my dog more than anything. 

I’m kidding. I really miss my sister and my aunt. My mother would be offended if I said I didn’t miss her too, but honestly I didn’t actually see her a lot. Same with my dad. It’s not their fault, we all worked and our schedules didn’t match up a lot. I’m just used to not seeing them a lot. 

I saw GiGGles, my aunt, and my dog a lot, so clearly I miss them more.

My room mate is still really nice. I think she hates my alarm clock because all of her classes start after mine, so I’m up first usually. This morning I had to get up at 6 to go to a school work thing and I swear I thought she wanted to kill me. 

Weird side note, I am always way more willing to get out of bed at 6am than I am at like 9am. it’s annoying and doesn’t make any sense. My alarm went off at 5:30 and I almost went a head and got up, but decided I could lie around until 6. I’m a little tired now and could actually take a serious nap right about now, but at the time I was completely fine getting up early. 

Anyway, that’s all I think....I don’t know what else to talk about. Sorry this post is both long and boring. 

Jimmy’s Photography :)